


Nightmare Nomads

by magiclaud



Series: Inktober [4]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Victorian, America is a child, Enemies, M/M, Magic, UKUS, USUK - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 12:11:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13247967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magiclaud/pseuds/magiclaud
Summary: In the midst of the night, three figures venture into the town where no one can feel.





	Nightmare Nomads

A shadow stopped upon the village, so clear and so high one would become mesmerized solely by looking at it. The town slept quietly, for it was long after the national curfew. There were, however, three figures that started to disturb the town’s peace, jumping from roof to roof with precise discipline. They all wore black tunics with hoods over their heads. As the old tales chanted, they put on masks too, which only uncovered their sight. 

Blue, Red, Green. 

The eyes of the nomads locked together, silently agreeing the dance of the night. They all had their small sand bag with them, and so they marched into different houses, beginning the terror. Soon enough, Red entered the greatest mansion of the village, giggling enough so the owners could be tortured with anticipation. On the other hand, Blue headed to the mountains, next to a small lake which was frozen by the winter. 

And Green, well, Green went to the house he always visited. The only one he remembered vividly after so much time. 

Green had been a man of habits. 

The house was as flamboyant as it always had been. The indoors were cold, colder than Green had expected, and through the darkness he couldn’t quite recognize anything in the room at all. He briefly wondered if he had been mistaken, when high-pitched voice said something louder than his own thoughts. 

“Are you a demon?” Green turned. A small shivering boy stood before him. His clothes were brown and he looked dishevelled. Green realised he must’ve indeed made a mistake. He decided to ask, just to be sure, and because it was long know how was impolite it was to decline a conversation. 

“Isn’t this the Bonnefoy household?” 

The boy shuddered. “I-It was a few years ago. The owner decided to sell it after his wife died,” as he explained, Green felt a twitch of guilt take over his stomach. 

“Well then, who might you be?”  
“I’m Alfred Bonnefoy.” 

Green stumbled backwards, and looked closer at the child. He had blue eyes, he did, and hair of honey, but he couldn’t —oh no, he couldn’t possibly be— 

“Are you the son of Francis Bonnefoy?” 

The boy glanced at him. “No. But everyone on the orphanage calls themselves Bonnefoy.”

Once again, guilt took over Green. 

He felt awkward. Green wanted to apologise to the boy and leave as soon as possible, but then the child, with no apparent sense of cowardness, spoke again. 

“Do you have a name? Do demons have names too?” 

Green huffed. “I’m not a demon.”  
“Then what are you?”Green didn’t answer. He didn’t want to, and it wasn’t like he could, anyway. He was forbidden to. Green took his pocket watch, and was about to say something when he was interrupted. 

“You won’t find anyone here. The other kids are hidden in the woods with the nuns, so it’s okay if you don’t have much time.” 

Green started to grow tired of Alfred’s stubbornness, and huffed again. This was tiring. “Then why didn’t you go with them?” 

Alfred laughed —it was so warm it reached Green’s guts, and spoke as if it were obvious:  
“Because I have to protect the house. I’m the oldest, you know; I have to be the hero,” Alfred’s arms moved with an almost comic seriousness. 

“All right, Alfred, “ Green felt wrong saying the kid’s name. He coughed, then kneeled so they could look at each other at the same level, and patted the boy’s back. “Do you know what is going to happen?” 

Alfred didn’t hesitate. “You’re going to give me nightmares.” 

“Not only nightmares. I’m going to terrorise you to the point you won’t be able to sleep in darkness.” 

“I know. ‘s all right. Get on with it!” Green was startled once again. The boy didn’t even close his eyes, oh no, and his gaze was full of a vigour so strong that Green couldn’t focus on his task. Green felt his own throat tightening. 

“What’s the matter, huh? Do you think you’re brave, kid?”

“No, sir. I’m no braver than the others.” 

“Then what is it? Why do you want to undergo such a torment, a torture like this that has turned mad hundreds of men before you?” The boy crossed his arms, and looked to the floor. The room quietened. Only then did Green hear the stains of water falling from the first floor. Alfred rubbed his hands together, as if he wanted to warm himself up, and, after a pause that seemed eternal, replied: 

“I wanted to feel something.”

What? Was he mocking him? Where had Alfred heard such a stupid idea? Green turned around, and decided to remain firm. He abhorred it when unexpected events like those happened. 

“Go to sleep. I’m leaving.”  
'  
“Huh? Wait—” the child grabbed Green’s sleeve. Green noticed Alfred’s own sleeve had been hiked up, and contain a gasp when he saw it. “Please. Don’t leave now.” 

“Who did you this?” he caught the boy’s wrist, but Alfred didn’t answer. He must’ve guessed Green already knew the answer, and Green let Alfred go. Finally, the boy started his reply. 

“Our leader doesn’t allow proles to feel,” he spoke. “They only should care about work, he says. In a month I’ll be old enough to work on the farms. This —This is really my last chance,” their eyes locked for a last time. “I don’t care what you are, I just —I just want to escape for a while. Doesn’t matter if it ain’t real, doesn’t matter. I don’t care —if you’re a monster, I don’t care,” Alfred started sobbing, and Green started sobbing too —not as Green anymore, but as Arthur Kirkland. For the first time, he remembered fully his memories of the village, the kingdom —the ascension of the Kirklands, the government, the fall of the house, and the death of the only son of the king of Spades, Arthur Kirkland. 

“Why are you sad? Do you feel sorry for me?” asked the child. Green said:  
“I don’t,” and he didn’t. But Arthur did, and a fire he had no felt since long ago had lit his insides.


End file.
